These days, I find myself wondering if we've forgotten the language of love.
Romance was never meant to begin with touch. It lived first in lingering conversations, in quiet understanding, in the comfort of being seen without having to ask. It was hidden in stolen glances, patient waiting, remembered details, and the gentle certainty that someone's heart had become a home.
Yet now, I see, love is measured by physical closeness, as though intimacy of the body could replace intimacy of the soul. It feels strange to me that emotions are treated as secondary, as if tenderness, vulnerability, and devotion have become old-fashioned luxuries...Perhaps I'm simply searching for a love that still believes in the poetry of presence, a love that lingers in words, in silence, in loyalty, and in the quiet ways two hearts learn each other before their hands ever do.
Because to me, romance has never been about how close two bodies can be. It has always been about how deeply two souls can understand one another.
